


Close Your Eyes and Think of Uruk

by kaiz



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-30
Updated: 2000-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiz/pseuds/kaiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AnythingThatMoves!Methos and AllTooHelpful!Caspian meet CluelessMostlyGen!Kronos. Check your disbelief at the door, folks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes and Think of Uruk

Kronos smiled appreciatively as the lush-bodied dancer writhed on-stage. Although her face was veiled, as was the custom in this kingdom, the few strategically draped scarves of her costume displayed her generous curves to good effect. With every seductive step the diaphanous silks rippled and fluttered, revealing tantalizing flashes of bare thigh or breast. The sinuous sway of her hips vividly called to mind numerous pleasurable activities best performed horizontally.

He glanced around the dark, crowded hall and noticed no small number of his men enthusiastically pitching coins at the stage and openly adjusting their suddenly too-tight garments. Even a few of the brothel eunuchs were watching the show with interest.

Chuckling to himself, Kronos gestured to his assistant and authorized the purchase of the finest of the establishment's whores for his officers and favorites. As Methos would note: happy, sated men brawled less often, violated fewer city ordinances, and incurred fewer fines. The hidden complexities of running a mercenary company!

Oddly enough, Methos seemed to be the only man not affected by the seductive atmosphere. Instead, his brother lounged on the pillows beside him meditatively sucking on a massive water pipe. Every so often, Methos would sigh and stare at him through the aromatic bluish haze. Over the course of the evening, his brother's enigmatic gaze had become increasingly intense and Kronos had come to suspect that he'd somehow upset his prickly, long-time companion.

Kronos leaned closer to Methos and raised his voice to be heard above the pulsing rhythms of the tambourines, flutes, and drums. "That body is made for fucking, eh brother?" He ventured congenially, hoping to diffuse the odd tension between them. Methos was the architect of his most successful campaigns, including the lucrative one that had financed their current, luxurious winter quarters. At all costs, Kronos wished to avoid alienating -- and invoking the wrath of -- his chief strategist and wily brother.

Methos glanced once at the dancer then shrugged and handed him the mouthpiece. Although he normally disliked smoking, to be companionable Kronos took it anyway and inhaled a deep lungful of the pungent smoke. The pipe tasted of the sugared dates and nuts Methos had snacked on all evening.

Within minutes, the herb began its work, smoothing away the day's lingering tensions, draping the garish decor of the room in a sensual fog, and relaxing his inhibitions. How his partner remained conscious, lucid, and so _restrained_ after an evening of smoking remained a mystery.

"I'd say it's adequate." Methos remarked off-handedly, lashes dipping to hide an odd gleam in his eyes.

"Adequate?!" He coughed in surprise and passed back the pipe. For a moment, blue sparks spotted his vision. "What's not to like?"

"Too much jiggle," his brother said dismissively, then stroked the flexible neck of the pipe with long fingers and flicked his tongue along the tip before inhaling deeply. The unconsciously suggestive movement made Kronos' cock twitch.

Kronos took the reoffered pipe and masked his confusion with another long hit. He blinked slowly, first at the dancer and then at Methos, through bleary, watering eyes. Too much jiggle? In an instant, his overactive, drug-fogged imagination had stripped the dancer naked and seated her upon his cock, with a generous helping of breast in each of his hands. And -- oh yes! -- she _did_ jiggle, quite fetchingly in fact, with each imagined upward thrust of his hips. How much gold would it cost to buy her, he wondered? And what the hell was Methos talking about anyway?

"You're joking," he said suspiciously, nearly certain that behind the bland expression his brother was silently laughing at him. "Hell, I've seen you fuck a whore with _three_ tits, Methos! When have you ever complained about a little 'jiggle'?"

Or a _lot_ of jiggle. Or a lot of anything else, for that matter, he thought wryly. His brother was well-known for his rather far-ranging and eclectic taste in bed-partners, tastes that Kronos didn't share. He'd endured a fair bit of ribbing from Methos over the years regarding his 'pathetically pedestrian' sexual appetites. And just what _was_ wrong with not wanting some scrawny, bony boy in his bed? Especially when the gods so generously provided lusciously endowed women, like this dancer, for his personal enjoyment.

In response, Methos leaned across the pillows and placed one strong, warm hand upon Kronos' thigh. His brother laughed, a low, rich sound, so dark with the promise of illicit mayhem that raised gooseflesh on his skin.

"Well, Kronos, while I admit a certain fondness for plump, spring fowl," Methos conceded with a slow, predatory smile, "tonight, I have a taste for a choice cut of well-aged beef."

Light-headed, mellowed, and bonelessly languid from the herb-smoke, it took Kronos several moments to realize that Methos' long fingers were _moving_, tracing a tingly path upwards, along his leather-clad thigh, beneath his tunic, and towards his crotch.

"Uh, Methos?" His query sounded strangely distant to his own ears.

The fingers continued on their quest, reached their destination, and began unlacing his trousers.

"Hmmmm?"

He barely heard Methos' response against the backdrop of the throbbing music and the scattered, pleasured sounds made by his men as they bedded the whores he'd purchased on the cushions surrounding the stage.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" The imperious demand was spoiled by his involuntary gasp when Methos flicked a thumb across the tip of his cock. Strength and reason ebbing rapidly under the influence of the herb, Kronos leaned back on his elbows and looked down the length of his body to meet Methos' incredulous gaze.

"_Why_ are you doing what you're doing?" he restated, forcing the words through numb lips.

"Just thought I'd relieve this swelling for you, Kronos." Methos' voice was blandly innocent but his dark eyes danced with mischief.

"Well. Uh. Thank you kindly, brother, but, uh, ah --!" Kronos choked with surprise as Methos swiftly freed his cock from its bindings, flipped up the end of his tunic, and settled between his legs with narrowed eyes and a frighteningly toothy grin.

Kronos belatedly concluded that the source of Methos' intense, evening-long scrutiny had nothing to do with annoyance, and everything to do with barely bridled lust.

"Methos!" With the first hot, wet touch of Methos' mouth and tongue, his arms shook and he collapsed backwards into the mound of pillows. "Methos, stop!" He buried his fingers in Methos' hair and tried to tug upwards. Public sex was one thing. Public sex with his angular, bony, undeniably _male_ brother was quite another!

"Come now, Kronos," his brother mumbled reasonably around his mouthful. "This is hardly the first time you've had a man's mouth on your cock."

Methos' statement was -- strictly speaking -- accurate. Regardless, Kronos was hard pressed to find the similarities between the occasions that he'd forced defeated, humiliated commanders to suck him off on the field of battle, and _this:_ lying pampered and at ease, amidst decadent silks and satins, with the sensuous, slick, deep glide of his brother's mouth on his sensitive, aroused flesh.

"That's not the point!" He winced at the undignified -- _maidenly_ even -- squeak in his voice.

Methos slowly raised his head, riding up on Kronos' cock, with just the very tip hidden behind red, swollen lips. Kronos exhaled on an reflexive moan.

"And what exactly _is_ your point?" Methos' look simultaneously redefined the terms 'smug satisfaction' and 'lechery'.

The question was, quite reasonably, echoed by his own rebellious cock.

"I like _women_, Methos."

Methos cocked an eyebrow. "So do I."

"But you're _not_ a woman."

Drug-addled, flat on his back in the midst of an enthusiastic orgy, prick standing straight up and dripping from his brother's attentions, his protest sounded rather lame, even to his own ears.

"Nope," his brother agreed congenially and then began to lick the head of his erection as he might a sugary sweet.

"Methos!"

Unsurprisingly, Methos ignored him, and took him deep, fingers dancing on his shivering skin, gently rolling his balls in their sac. For long moments, he was lost in the overwhelming sensations effortlessly induced by his infuriating, head-strong, stubborn -- but undeniably talented -- brother.

So lost was he in the delicious friction that the shivery sensation of an approaching immortal barely roused him from his pleasure-induced haze. Kronos tilted his head back and blinked sluggishly.

When looked at upside down, Caspian was a monster out of a terrifying childhood fable. Fearsome tattoos scrolled across his scalp and disappeared beneath the narrow strip of hair that swept down the middle of his skull from forehead to nape. The dark, sticky ends spiked up over his forehead and dangled over his armored shoulder to tickle Kronos' nose unpleasantly. To round out the nightmare, thick ribbons of dried blood slashed haphazardly across his face, throat, and torso: Caspian's taste in bed-partners was considerably more exotic, more bloody, and far more expensive than Methos'.

"I see that you've finally decided to indulge yourself in our brother's skills, Kronos." Caspian crouched on the pillows above his head and grinned down at him. "Wise choice."

Seething with embarrassment, annoyance, and arousal, Kronos flushed beneath his brother's wry scrutiny. "Caspian! I --!"

"No need to protest, my friend. His mouth _is_ amazing, is it not?" Caspian's gravelly chuckle did nothing to bank the flames of lust churning in Kronos' belly. "Just wait 'til you taste his _cock_," he continued, voice sly with innuendo. "He has quite the talent for choosing the _perfect_ angle!"

"What?!" Kronos' confused, pleasure-fogged brain struggled, but failed to make complete sense of the two statements. As if he had _any_ intention of _ever_ tasting Methos' cock!

"Here, Caspian," Methos said, calmly disregarding his protest and untangling Kronos' numb, clenched fingers from his hair. "Hold his wrists for me."

Caspian leaned down hard on Kronos' wrists, pinning his lethargic limbs effortlessly.

"Methos! Caspian!" he demanded, "If you don't let me up, I'll --" And how exactly had it come to pass that he, the leader of their band, found himself completely ignored (and expertly pleasured, his libido ruthlessly reminded him) by the members of his own family? "--cut off your damn balls!"

"You want to keep me happy, don't you, Kronos?" Methos' query was plaintive in tone, but the bare blade of threat was in evidence.

Kronos sighed inwardly. Of _course_ he wanted to Methos -- author of his finest victories, damn him! -- to be happy.

"Yes, but--" He jerked with surprise as his trousers were yanked down to his ankles.

"Then indulge me, brother. Relax and enjoy." Methos said smugly. "I know _I_ will."

Nonetheless, he struggled -- rather half-heartedly, were he completely honest with himself -- but in the end, he gave into his brothers' demands. And those of his wanton prick, which apparently cared not one whit if the mouth wrapped around it was ultimately attached to another cock or not.

And upon further reflection, after Methos had coaxed his turgid flesh towards orgasm for the third time, after Methos had shoved long, slim fingers -- slicked with Caspian's spit -- deeply, intimately into his body, locating a source of fierce, aching pleasure he'd never before experienced, Kronos decided that his prick had the right idea after all. So what if his brother was considerably taller, more muscular, less curvaceous and cuddly, and infinitely more _male_ than his usual choice? He certainly was more _skilled_, Kronos thought muzzily. And if allowing Methos to gift him with this amazing experience pleased his cantankerous brother, who was _he_, the sated recipient, to complain?

With that final thought, Kronos began to fuck his brother's mouth in earnest. Moaning with bliss, he abandoning himself to the inexorable tide of blazing sensation that washed upwards from his cock and ass to decisively annihilate any lingering traces of rationality and sweep him onto the blackened shores of oblivion.

"Ha! He passed out!"

The words seemed to reach him from a long way off.

"Are you surprised?" Methos voice was smug.

Caspian laughed sheepishly. "No, not really."

"Wake up, Kronos!" A sudden hard slap stung his cheek, making his jaw pop. "I don't fancy fucking the dead!"

What the hell was his brother talking about? He opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly, while the grinning faces of Methos and Caspian above him slowly came into focus. Shifting his aching jaw from side to side, he wondered blearily why Methos was ruining his post-sex buzz.

"Welcome back, brother. Have a nice time?"

"Mmmm," Kronos licked dry lips and nodded. His throat was raw from suppressed screams. No question, his brother was a cock sucker of no little virtuosity.

"Good," Methos purred from behind a smile turned suddenly and shockingly feral. "Because now it's _my_ turn."

"?!"

"Help me flip him, Caspian."

"!!!"

Uncoordinated, sex-drugged limbs were no match for two pairs of determined, battle-hardened hands and far superior leverage. In an eye-blink, Kronos found himself face down, ass up, in the pile of pillows. _Not_ a very dignified position for a military commander. Assuming, of course, that any of member his company would notice his predicament. Or be sober enough care. Regardless, he squirmed, trying to get free, but Methos' hand cracked sharply across his arse and Caspian leaned down hard on his shoulders.

As the reality of his position sank in, Kronos finally found his tongue. "Get the fuck _off_ me!" He snapped hoarsely.

"Ooooh!" Methos crowed with delight. "I do so love a bit of fight! Caspian, hand me that lamp oil, will you?"

When Caspian's weight shifted, Kronos snatched at the chance. Brother or no -- chief strategist or no! -- no way in hell was he going to be held down and buggered against his will at his own damn bacchanalia.

Unfortunately, he'd underestimated the extent of Methos' deviousness. The slick fingers swiftly shoved in his arse unerringly sought and found the hidden pleasure spot. He howled with reluctant passion as the movement of Methos' deft fingers revived his cock, and unhinged and splayed his limbs like a beached starfish.

"Oh, brother," Caspian leaned close and breathed past his ear. "This is the best part! You'll _love_ it!"

Warm oil splashed in the small of his back, dripped between his cheeks, and was smoothed gently over his swollen, tingling, intimate parts. Kronos bit back a moan.

"I don't _want_ it!" He insisted hotly. His outrage would likely be more convincing were his traitorous body _not_ fucking Methos' hand quite so enthusiastically.

"Really?" Caspian sounded rightly dubious. "No matter though," he dismissed after a moment. Kronos felt the careless shrug in the pop and grind of his shoulder blades under Caspian's hands. "Methos can be quite convincing."

"Oh yes, dear brother. I can be _very_ persuasive." Methos agreed softly, breath warm against Kronos' bare nape. "I think it's time you broadened your horizons!"

His brother's weight settled along his body like a hot, horny blanket. Lean, powerful thighs thrust his own apart and Kronos felt the blunt heat of his brother's cock press against him suggestively.

"Damnit, Methos!" He snarled. Outrage and honor forced him to struggle against the slick cushions, "I don't --" but he succeeded only in shoving his brother's cock in deep. Deep enough that he saw stars and could barely draw breath to utter the shameless, liquid moan that welled up from the soles of his feet, crowded his throat, then spilled lushly from his lips as if to pool on the satin beneath his over-heated cheek.

"That's quite alright, Kronos," Methos said kindly, voice roughed with passion. "_I_ do."

"You'll pay for this, brother," he promised darkly, eyes already sliding shut to better savor the -- simply admit it! -- not-wholly-unwanted experience.

Methos' oil-slicked hands slid along Kronos' forearms to clasp his fingers tightly.

"We'll see," his brother chuckled, then flexed his hips in a slow, sinuous, and decadent rhythm that reminded Kronos all too well that his brother was a far better dancer than the ingenue on-stage. "Oh yes, my friend. We shall see," Methos repeated softly, barely audible above Caspian's empathetic, voyeuristic moans.

Honor and pride satisfied, Kronos finally closed his eyes and surrendered to the (admittedly pleasurable) inevitable. It was nothing at all like what he'd expected. There was no pain, no humiliation. No torn and bloodied flesh, and no accompanying murderous frenzy and rage.

Ah yes -- he mused dimly, awash in fresh near-ecstasy as Methos fisted his cock and found the absolute _perfect_ angle -- his brother _would_ most assuredly pay. Late one evening, in the privacy and intimacy of his own chambers, why _then_, Kronos thought with no little satisfaction, they would indeed see.

And he hid his small, expectant smile against the pillows.

_Finis._

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent.


End file.
